The Vancouver band earned a cult fandom for their uncompromising gigs. As they ready their brutal debut album, they discuss subverting audience expectations and the nightly toll of excavating trauma onstage<\/p>\n
You\u2019d be hard pressed to find a band with fewer airs and graces than Piss. First, there\u2019s the unavoidable matter of their name, which they style in all caps, no nonsense; a word that scans as vulgar and combative but also somewhat facetious when displayed on their merch in loopy cursive, sometimes decorated with bows. The Vancouver quartet\u2019s music is a merciless cyclone of hardcore, poetry, sound collage and performance art that revolves entirely around singer Taylor Zantingh\u2019s experiences with sexual violence.<\/p>\n
On stage at Eindhoven\u2019s Hit the City festival in late August, the band greets the stacked crowd with a trigger warning before drummer Garreth Roberts, bassist Gavin Moya and guitarist Tyler Paterson launch into pulverising fits of noise-punk, broken up by audio samples of children laughing and feminist writer Andrea Dworkin talking about pornography. Zantingh hurls herself around, clutching at her stomach and flinging her pigtails before winding down to a nervous, twitching standstill. The intense set is finely tuned to present a narrative of gender-based violence not as entertainment, but as lived experience. They play it exactly the same every night, and have done for the last two years.<\/p>\n
![](\"https:\/\/i.guim.co.uk\/img\/media\/eacddb75b5b5b791ccc81c33f4a1578736825b17\/0_504_3482_2786\/master\/3482.jpg?width=140&quality=85&auto=format&fit=max&s=2b876ca6b1e37fc112b2a30d28e4e9e6\" "\\"\u2018Men")
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